by Jack Vance
Fianosther made a gracious sign. “In this case, I wish you a good day, and you as well.” The last was addressed to Iucounu, who returned only a surly glare.
Returning to the manse, Cugel brought Iucounu into the vestibule; then making his way to the roof, leaned on a parapet and gazed over the expanse of hills which rolled away like swells on a sea. For the hundredth time he pondered Iucounu’s peculiar failure of foresight; by no means must he, Cugel, fall into similar error. And he looked about with an eye to defense. Above rose the spiral green glass towers; below slanted the steep ridges and gables which Iucounu had deemed aesthetically correct. Only the face of the ancient keep offered an easy method of access to the manse. Along the slanting outer abutments Cugel arranged sheets of soapstone in such a manner that anyone climbing to the parapets must step on these and slide to his doom. Had Iucounu taken a similar precaution — so Cugel reflected — instead of arranging the over-subtle crystal maze, he would not now be looking forth from the tall glass tube.
Other defenses must also be perfected: namely those resources to be derived from Iucounu’s shelves.
Returning to the great hall, he consumed the repast set forth by Jince and Skivvee, his two comely stewardesses, then immediately applied himself to his studies. Tonight they concerned themselves with the Spell of Forlorn Encystment, a reprisal perhaps more favored in earlier aeons than the present, and the Agency of Far Despatch, by which Iucounu had transported him to the northern wastes. Both spells were of no small power; both required a bold and absolutely precise control, which Cugel at first feared he would never be able to supply. Nevertheless he persisted, and at last felt able to encompass either the one or the other, at need.
Two days later it was as Cugel had expected: a rap at the front door which, when Cugel flung wide the portal, indicated the unwelcome presence of Fianosther.
“Good day,” said Cugel cheerlessly. “I am indisposed, and must request that you instantly depart.”
Fianosther made a bland gesture. “A report of your distressing illness reached me, and such was my concern that I hastened here with an opiate. Allow me to step within —” so saying he thrust his portly figure past Cugel “— and I will decant the specific dose.”
“I suffer from a spiritual malaise,” said Cugel meaningfully, “which manifests itself in outbursts of vicious rage. I implore you to depart, lest, in an uncontrollable spasm, I cut you in three pieces with my sword, or worse, invoke magic.”
Fianosther winced uneasily, but continued in a voice of unquenchable optimism. “I likewise carry a potion against this disorder.” He brought forth a black flask. “Take a single swallow and your anxieties will be no more.”
Cugel grasped the pommel of his sword. “It seems that I must speak without ambiguity. I command you: depart, and never return! I understand your purpose and I warn that you will find me a less indulgent enemy than was Iucounu! So now, be off! Or I inflict upon you the Spell of the Macroid Toe, whereupon the signalized member swells to the proportions of a house.”
“Thus and so,” cried Fianosther in a fury. “The mask is torn aside! Cugel the Clever stands revealed as an ingrate! Ask yourself: who urged you to pillage the manse of Iucounu? It is I, who by every standard of honest conduct should be entitled to a share of Iucounu’s wealth!”
Cugel snatched forth his blade. “I have heard enough; now I act.”
“Hold!” And Fianosther raised high the black flask. “I need only hurl this bottle to the floor to unloose a purulence, to which I am immune. Stand back then!”
But Cugel, infuriated, lunged, to thrust his blade through the upraised arm. Fianosther called out in woe, flung the black bottle into the air. Cugel leapt to catch it with great dexterity; but meanwhile, Fianosther, jumping forward, struck him a blow, so that Cugel staggered back and collided with the glass tube containing Iucounu. It toppled to the stone, shattered; Iucounu crept painfully away from the fragments.
“Ha ha!” laughed Fianosther. “Matters now move in a different direction!”
“By no means!” called Cugel, bringing forth a tube of blue concentrate which he had found among Iucounu’s instruments.
Iucounu strove with a sliver of glass to cut the seal on his lips. Cugel projected a waft of blue concentrate and Iucounu gave a great tight-lipped moan of distress. “Drop the glass!” ordered Cugel. “Turn about to the wall.” He threatened Fianosther. “You as well!”
With great care he bound the arms of his enemies, then stepping into the great hall possessed himself of the workbook which he had been studying.
“And now — both outside!” he ordered. “Move with alacrity! Events will now proceed to a definite condition!”
He forced the two to walk to a flat area behind the manse, and stood them somewhat apart. “Fianosther, your doom is well-merited. For your deceit, avarice and odious mannerisms I now visit upon you the Spell of Forlorn Encystment!”
Fianosther wailed piteously, and collapsed to his knees. Cugel took no heed. Consulting the workbook he encompassed the spell; then pointing and naming Fianosther, spoke the dreadful syllables.
But Fianosther, rather than sinking into the earth, crouched as before. Cugel hastily consulted the workbook and saw that in error he had transposed a pair of pervulsions, thereby reversing the quality of the spell. Indeed, even as he understood the mistake, to all sides there were small sounds, and previous victims across the aeons were now erupted from a depth of forty-five miles, and discharged upon the surface. Here they lay, blinking in glazed astonishment; though a few lay rigid, too sluggish to react. Their garments had fallen to dust, though the more recently encysted still wore a rag or two. Presently all but the most dazed and rigid made tentative motions, feeling the air, groping at the sky, marveling at the sun.
Cugel uttered a harsh laugh. “I seem to have performed incorrectly. But no matter. I shall not do so a second time. Iucounu, your penalty shall be commensurate with your offense, no more, no less! You flung me willy-nilly to the northern wastes, to a land where the sun slants low across the south. I shall do the same for you. You inflicted me with Firx; I will inflict you with Fianosther. Together you may plod the tundras, penetrate the Great Erm, win past the Mountains of Magnatz. Do not plead; put forward no excuses: in this case I am obdurate. Stand quietly unless you wish a further infliction of blue ruin!”
So now Cugel applied himself to the Agency of Far Despatch, and established the activating sounds carefully within his mind. “Prepare yourselves,” he called, “and farewell!”
With that he sang forth the spell, hesitating at only one pervulsion where uncertainty overcame him. But all was well. From on high came a thud and a guttural outcry, as a coursing demon was halted in mid-flight.
“Appear, appear!” called Cugel. “The destination is as before: to the shore of the northern sea, where the cargo must be delivered alive and secure! Appear! Seize the designated persons and carry them in accordance with the command!”
A great flapping buffeted the air; a black shape with a hideous visage peered down. It lowered a talon; Cugel was lifted and carried off to the north, betrayed a second time by a misplaced pervulsion.
For a day and a night the demon flew, grumbling and moaning. Somewhat after dawn Cugel was cast down on a beach and the demon thundered off through the sky.
There was silence. To right and left spread the gray beach. Behind rose the foreshore with a few clumps of salt-grass and spinifex. A few yards up the beach lay the splintered cage in which once before Cugel had been delivered to this same spot. With head bowed and arms clasped around his knees, Cugel sat looking out across the sea.
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